


Cunt and Soul

by stargategeek



Series: Lady Sansa and the Gamekeeper [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, F/M, Feelings, Fingering, Happy Baelentines, Lady-of-the-Manor, Sex Outdoors, Smut, ambiguous ending, gamekeeper, part three, sex by moonlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17797343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: “I want you to come...”“Petyr,” Sansa shivered.He tugged her to him, her lush body falling against the hard planes of his chest.“I want you to come...” he rasped against her ear, the hair of his beard scraping against her soft cheek. “Tonight.”





	Cunt and Soul

 

“I want you to come...”

“Petyr,” Sansa shivered.

He tugged her to him, her lush body falling against the hard planes of his chest.

“I want you to come...” he rasped against her ear, the hair of his beard scraping against her soft cheek. “Tonight.”

“Sansa!” her husband called from the top of the garden path where his wheeled chair could venture no further. Sansa grabbed Petyr and pulled him into a little alcove of trees, hidden from her husband’s view.

“Shhh,” she held a finger to his lips before replacing them with her own. Their kiss was soft and sultry, deepening as she wove her arms around his neck, and used her body to press him into the base of a tree. His hands came up to rest on her hips, gripping the fabric of her dress and shift. In one hand, he began to bunch the layers of silk and linen, raising the hem up over the crest of her ass. She had decided to forego underwear quite some time ago. He had a tendency to rip hers during their various encounters. Petyr groaned, sliding his other hand between the ripe globes.

“We don’t have long,” she whispered against his lips.

His hands fell away from her only to roughly grab her by the waist and spin her until her back fell against the tree.  
“I can’t stop. I want you always,” he murmured, hiking one of her legs over his hip and dragging his fingers over the stockinged flesh. “I’d have you against this tree if I could.”

He pressed himself against her core for emphasis. There was a significant bulge in his trousers already - he was halfway hard just from their kisses and her fleeting touches.

Sansa gripped her hands on his firm backside, sighing as he rocked their hips together. A sad mimicry of the dance they knew so well now together. “We can’t,” her breath hitched at a particularly sensual press. “Not here. Not now.”

He laid open-mouthed kisses down her neck, ripping her loose scarf from obstructing his path. The silk fabric caught in a branch and hung behind them, a silvery lilac flag. A sigil of his surrender to her body. Their mouths met again in a kiss that threatened to boil Sansa down to mush.

“Sansa!” her husband called again.

Sansa broke the kiss, her heart beating rapidly in her breast. Whether from the man in her arms or the exhilarting fear of being caught, she couldn’t tell.

“Later. The hut,” she urged him away with her hands. He was stubbornly immovable despite his slight figure.

“No,” he grasped the side of her face, stilling her struggling. “Tonight. Come to my cottage. Spend the night with me.”

Sansa whimpered. Frustration and desire settling deep in her chest. “I want to, but...”

“No buts, just come,” he kissed her again, pressed his eager erection into her.

“It’s not that simple,” she protested weakly, her legs going soft under his ministrations. He was so tempting.

“It is, it is,” he peppered her cheeks and chin with kisses. Imploring kisses. Pleading kisses. He hiked her up against the tree even further. Her toes barely touching the ground as they curled in her boots.

“Sansa, darling!” Through the trees she could hear the slight motorized hum, that gave her husband’s position away.  
Sansa opened her eyes as if awakening from a hazy dream. The reality, cold and brisk as the late fall air. “Petyr, he’ll see!“

This time when she pushed him off he let her go, his hands clenching at his sides as she sought to recover her appearance.  
“So that’s it then...” his voice was dark and his face locked behind a tepid expression. “I am just a stud horse for you to ride every afternoon between breakfast and tea time.”

“I never said that.”

She turned to him, his eyes were pained behind his meticulously maintained mask. The ease with which he tried to carry himself betrayed by the longing twitching in his fingertips. She wanted to hold those hands in hers, assure them that their home was here, within her.

Sansa touched his stubbled cheek, stroking the rough hair fondly. “You stop that right now, Mister Baelish,” his cheek melted into her hand, the lust giving way to the true warmth of her affection. “You know you mean more to me than just your cock. Cunt and soul, remember?”

Petyr smiled, nuzzling her hand and kissing her open palm. “Cunt and soul,” he agreed. Sansa kissed him. “Will you come tonight?” he half whispered, half begged. “Come to me. Come on me. Just come.“

Sansa felt his fingers just graze her waist. She smiled, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Let me think on it,” she teased, tracing the contours of his chest before pushing away from him finally. He let her go.  
“As you wish, your Ladyship,” he muttered.

Sansa emerged from the shelter of trees, brushing her hands through the loosening strands of her hair. She walked leisurely along the path, untaming her fire-wild hair only to quickly weave it into a smooth long plait over one shoulder.  
Petyr watched her as though she were a rare bird in a birdbath. A part of him wanted to cage her and have her all to himself, another part wanted to leave her free. It was a constant battle. His gun rattled a little as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and as he moved to cup the butt a peek of lavender silk fell from his cuff. He quickly tucked it back under with a movement as though he were wiping off dust.

Sansa turned to him at the metallic jingle of his rifle as he fought to contain its jostling. He paused. Taking her in fully. In that moment, he missed the sight of her naked in the rain.

“I dislike your hair like that,” he said. “All stuck to your forehead like a secured chain.”

“How lucky for me then that my hair is my own, and I may do with it what I wish,” she teased.

A his face winged a little, almost as if in pain. “All I mean is that I prefer it loose. When I see it...I want to run my hands through it, shake out all the pins.”

Sansa smiled. My, her Gamekeeper was being oddly sentimental today.

“Would you prefer me with ribbons and wreaths of flowers?” she had to stifle a small laugh at the memory of their flower crowns.

“I like you as you are...when you are with me.” He took a step forward. “I want you tonight, in my bed, naked, with your hair about you like fire. As I know you are never like with him.”

The darkness in his eyes caused Sansa to shiver. Petyr was not normally one to be so possessive - being the free-spirit that he was.

“You know that what you and I share I could never have with my husband,” she stepped up to him, pressing a hand up to his solid chest. “Even if he weren’t in his condition. I could never be with him the way I am with you. Or any man. Only you.”  
“Then come tonight,” he grasped her arm, as if he were a man in quicksand. “Be with me. Just one night.”

Sansa did not answer, but laid her head down over his heart to listen to its steady thrum. The muscles around his scar quivered as he fought both to hold her closer and to push her away. She’d ruined him, before he’d met her he could handle walking through life alone - lord knows his wife had turned him off from the idea of any sort of female companionship. And yet, now - now that they had started this, and he had felt her and she had felt him - he was an addict once more. To her soft sighs as she came on his fingers, to her delicate palm on his cock, to her little laughs of delight and to her cries of ecstacy. He was utterly, utterly ruined. And a small part of him hoped he had ruined her as well.

Just as the thought of her touching his cock passed his mind, he felt her hand slide from its place on his sternum to the soft underbelly below his naval. It took very little effort on her part to make him hard, and the thought alone of her touching him had him already stiffening once more. Those delicate fingers shifted to cup him through his trousers, and even though her head stayed rested on his chest, he could sense she was smiling.

Petyr grunted. “Don’t...” his hips involuntarily bucked into her little fist. “Don’t tease me,” he hissed.

Sansa lifted her head from him to look up the path. They were only a few metres from the manor garden, with its manicured lawns, and paved paths, and its ornate topiaries. Nothing of nature’s wild and unyielding touch, the winding and whirling spontaneity of the woods. It was all straight lines and perfect curves, and stifling, stifling, civility. Sansa wanted to be wild.

“Ok,” her hand stilled over his crotch.

“Ok?” Petyr grunted, trying to restrain himself from bringing himself off on her hand.

“I’ll come.”

It took him nearly a full minute to realize what she meant. When he did, his eyes lit up like sparklers. “You mean....”

“Tonight. Meet me at the garden gate at a quarter past eleven. Willas will be asleep by then. I should be able to sneak away undetected and sneak back in by morning light.”

He leant down and kissed her tenderly. Sweet, thankful little kisses.

“I will,” his lips fluttered over her eyelids like soft little butterflies.

Sansa placed her hand over his heart, comforted by its erratic thrum. It gave her strength.

“I will be with you tonight my love, I promise,” she placed one last lingering kiss to his lips, and he drank as much of her down as he could. “I must go,” she reluctantly pulled away. “Before Willas calls a search party.”

“I love you,” her Gamekeeper muttered in parting. She turned and ran up the path before all reason dissolved and she melted in his arms. “Your Ladyship,” he whispered to the space she left.

It wasn’t until Sansa reached the upper garden path that she touched her bare throat and realized she had lost her scarf.

~~~~

As night fell over High Garden, Sansa feigned a headache and retired to her chambers early, keeping an ear out to the floor underneath her where her debilitated husband slept.

By candlelight she changed into her silkiest shift, pale cream adorned with Irish lace. A gift from her sister in London.  
Sansa smiled to herself in the mirror. Her lover would be the first to see her in this slip, the first to ever touch her skin over its delicate fabric. The first to drag it upwards from her thigh and throw it into a crumpled heap on the floor behind him. She hoped he wouldn’t rip it - that he would find the beautiful lace as enchanting as she did. She brushed her hair out of its crimps from her tight braid until it shone in soft billowing waves. No pins, no restraints. Just like he’d asked.

At her vanity she cleaned herself of all artifice, only leaving a small bit of pink flushing her cheeks and lips. With the perfume her father had brought over from France she lightly dabbed the sweet floral scent behind the ear, between the breasts, and at the base of her womanly garden. How fitting, she thought, I shall go to him smelling of a flower bed.  
She had it all thought out. Her husband knew she had the habit of taking a walk in the woods most mornings. Tonight she would sneak out of the manor in full dress, with her lace shift tucked underneath, and tomorrow she would return to the manor as though she were merely coming back from her morning jaunt. Willas would be none the wiser. He would never know she had spent the entire night in another man’s arms.

Oh to fall asleep next to a warm body again, and wake up with him pressed against her backside. No chocolatier in France could conjure something half as sweet.

When at last she heard the telltale murmur of her husband’s chair. The shuffle and grunting as he was moved from chair to bed by his minder, Myranda. He would lie in bed and write for the better part of a half hour before his languorous thoughts would finally pull him into the lull of sleep. Myranda would make her glass of warm milk and take up in her quarters next to Willas and drift off shortly thereafter. Then Sansa could make her escape.

She went to her window that over looked the garden, and beyond it the gate to which her beloved Gamekeeper lay in waiting. The candle from her bed was brought over to the windowsill and lit so that he would know when she was on her way.  
It was exciting. All this intrigue. Only so that she could feel her forbidden lover between her thighs. She looked over to her bed and momentarily imagined him lounging naked over the coverlet. His dark hair in contrast to its pure white sheets. Sheets he’d no doubt take great pleasure in staining with the evidence of their passion. He would lie her lengthways on the mattress and straddle her body with his lean, muscular thighs. His proud cock grazing her pale, tender belly with its eagerness. Pin her to the virginal mattress - a bed that had never known any form of lovemaking. Comb her hair out so that it fell off the edge of the bed behind her in a cascade of fire. And just hold her there. Hold her on that edge of anticipation.

Her cunt dampened with her fantasy.

Some times she could barely recognize the wanton thing she’d become. That small voice still lingering in the back of her mind that begged propriety. She laughed. There was no life in propriety. There was life out there. In the woods. In the shadows. With him.

Beneath her the rising sounds of her husband’s soft snores finally signalled the time. She blew out the candle in the windowsill and gathered her coat and hat. She reached for her scarf but when her hand didn’t touch the familiar silk she remembered she had lost it during her encounter with Petyr earlier in the day. She knew the halls of her home and walked them blindly in the dark with amazing swiftness. She tugged on her boots at the side entrance and slipped out into the cool fall evening air.  
The garden didn’t smell as fragrant now as it did in the summer, but there was a certain dampness to the air that told her it was to rain soon. _Oh wouldn’t that be nice_ , she grinned to herself.

She would pull her husky lover outside into the downpour and have him make love to her on top of his makeshift bath table. Then perhaps take him herself on the dirty ground and rub cold mud into his chest until he came so hard she would undoubtedly be imbued with his seed.

Sansa laughed to herself. _Still incorrigible._

She made it to the garden gate but could not see Petyr anywhere in the trees beyond. The moon was bright enough, she would be able to at least make out an outline.

“Petyr?” she whispered into the dark. A cold shiver running up her spine. “Petyr?”

She slowly and carefully lifted the bar off the gate and slid it as noiselessly she could just ajar enough so that her lithe body could sneak through the narrow gap. There was a slight squeak from the gates rusty hinges which spiked a jolt of fear to her heart.

A hand suddenly grabbed her about the waist and pulled her into the dark shadows, a hand muffling her screams.

“Shh, Your Ladyship,” Petyr breathed against her ear.

She turned and walloped him in the shoulder. He caught the offending hand and kissed its tips apologetically.

“Forgive me, your Ladyship,” his voice was husky and dark in a way that did not evoke contrition. “I couldn’t help myself. I was expecting you earlier. It’s almost a quarter past.”

Sansa smiled - extracted her hands from his lips and looped them around his neck, leaning her body into him. “I haven’t put you out, have I, Mister Baelish?”

His strong hands slithered over her ribs. “Oh aye,” he grinned, affecting his common speech. “Most put out. But then, not so much that I can’t be put back in again.”

Sansa laughed, leaning up slightly on her toes to kiss him.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

Petyr tightened his grip on her and hauled her into the trees, shushing her gasp and squeal of surprise as he bumped her against a large, thick trunk.

“Petyr,” she sighed as he smothered her with his mouth - his hands ravenously diving under her skirts to scrape nails against her thighs and tear at underwear that was not there. He groaned. “What about your cottage?” she asked.

“We have all night,” he sighed huskily, pressing his knee between her thighs and setting her aching cunt against the sharp protrusion of his hip bone. Sansa sighed, playfully rolling her hips, testing his hold on her and his own control.

“You’ve never had me by moonlight.”

Petyr pulled back and grinned, even in the gloomy dark she could see its lascivious corners and dimples. Without warning his body left her - her boots clamouring to find their footing after losing his sturdy support - but he was back before she could truly miss him. Strong hands gripping her hips and spinning her roughly around to face the tree. He bent her over so fast she barely had time to catch herself from hitting the large trunk. The cool air of the night striking the back of her legs as she felt him lift her skirts, exposing her bare nethers. The warm touch of his hand cupping her mound made her close her eyes blissfully and sigh. What would he do to her, out here, in the dark? Spank her? Whip her with branches and sharp barbed nettles? Soothe her with wet, dewy kisses? Rut her against this tree until her cries mimicked the baying hounds?  
Sansa laughed, which turned into a sigh when two of his fingers slipped inside. He groaned - the heavy warmth of him falling on her back. A bright fluttering stirred deep in her belly. He kissed the small of her back, pumping his fingers - he kissed along her spine and the base of her lumbar. Bit into the fleshy peak of her rump, making her squeak. His hot tongue felt like a snake gliding between her seam until it joined his fingers in thoroughly feasting out her cunt.

Sansa bit the fabric of her sleeve so hard her jaw ached as he brought her to her first climax of the evening.

After replacing her skirts, her now-chilled thighs still quaking from the ferocity of her orgasm, Petyr cupped her face sweetly and kissed her, letting her taste the combined flavours of them on his lips. She liked the taste.

They walked in a comfortable silence in the dark, hands entwined. Petyr knew the paths of the wood like the back of his hand. Sansa thought he looked dashingly handsome by moonlight- the rugged outdoorsman, his cock bulging in his trousers and her come shining in his beard.

Sansa had never actually been inside his cottage before and was surprised by how neat and cozy it was. She always envisioned her Gameskeeper’s private quarters to be drab, and rustic, and littered with books - and books there were, in abundance but well organized in little well-maintained shelves along the wall.

There was no hint of the Gamekeeper in this house. This was all the man.

Petyr busily set himself to making a pot of tea. A strange unease vibrating through him with every movement. Sansa supposed he hadn’t had a lady visitor in his house for quite some time. She watched him curiously. Petyr was so strange. Ready to fuck her up against a tree in a heartbeat but now that he’d finally got her in his house he was flittering about like a nervous housewife over a dinner party.

Sansa touched his arm and Petyr stilled, the rattling nerves coming to a rest as she sidled her hand in a firm motion over his elbow, tracing the muscles in his arm over his shirt. Her other hand came up and did the same on the other side. Slow, pleasing movements, the way a stablehand would soothe a startled steed. _Her nervous stallion_. Sansa grinned, resting her cheek in the plane between his shoulder blades as her hands came over his collarbone, above his scar. Petyr’s body sagged into the surety of her palms. She rubbed soothing circles over his chest, his nipples, his soft quivering belly. She kissed the back of his neck. Open-mouthed. Her tongue darting out to tease the notch of his spine just peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Petyr groaned. His hips met her hands as they firmly passed over his crotch and caught his manhood against the hardness of her fingers.

“ _There, there,”_ she wanted to tease him. Pat him on his rump like a good dog - she didn’t think he’d appreciate that much. Her hands slid under the waist of his trousers to cup him properly and he hissed - eyes slammed shut, heavy pants escaping through clenched teeth.

Her hands left him and it sounded as though she had wrenched out the heart of him. “Do you have someplace I could freshen up?” she let her lips ghost against his ear. “It seems I’m a bit damp.”

Up the stairs were two rooms: a cozy loft bedroom with a firm bed that absolutely smelt of her Gamekeeper - rustic and woody with a hint of mint - and a small, unused powder room that had clearly been designed for his wife. Inside was a basin, and a recently polished mirror. He had made a bundle of dried lavender and rosemary to scent the room and there were clean towels. He had prepared this room for her. Sansa thought it charming, though no lavender could remove the stench of another woman.

 _I will rub my essence into his pillow_ , she thought obscenely.

The sheets of his bed felt as though they were made from Dornish silk. Simply for the fact that they were his. The bed could have been carved by angels and the mattress the down of swans. She shed her hat, her boots, her coat - everything save for the lace shift and ever-so-slowly lowered her body to the bed, sliding the fabric along her bare skin.

She felt like a heated bitch wanting to mark her territory. To mark him. _Mine._ Of the two pillows on the bed she grabbed the one that most smelt of him. The piney, mintiness - the dark touch of spice. She sat up on her knees and pressed the pillow between her legs. Rode it. The friction was weak, the pillow not hard enough to satisfy. She pulled it from her legs and replaced it against the headboard. She’d left a sheen.

Her face flushed hotly - embarrassment with a touch of excitement. She looked around the room. _What else of his can I defile?_ The shirts hanging in the armoire? His comb? His slippers?

_Imagine that, the Lady-of-the-Manor caught humming her Gamekeeper’s sleepers._

She dipped a finger into her seam, like a pen in an inkpot and traced a heart into the bedsheets. And another. A secret message. _S Hearts P._

The repeated dipping to complete the message left her aching. She finished the stem off the P, and her hands flew eagerly back down to finish herself off.

“Stop.”

A dark growl startled her. She lifted her head to find Petyr in the doorway - eyes dark and hungry.

“I lied,” she moaned. “I didn’t need to freshen up. I just couldn’t stand watching you make tea anymore.”

He stepped into the room, the tension in his body like a stalking animal. Sansa sped up her hand and he sprang to catch it, pining it up by her head, then the other. Her legs fell open over the side of the bed and he stepped between them. The evidence of his lust protruding between them.

“You’re not playing fair,” he muttered huskily.

He held her fast as his eyes scanned down her body. The delicate lace, the shimmering cream silk. “Do you like it?” she whispered. All the bravado of the moment before was gone in favour of a genuine want to please him. “I’ve never worn it before. I wanted you to be the first one to see me in it.”

The darkness in his eyes melted into something much, much warmer. A look that took her breath away. His fingers left her arms to trace the pattern of the lace covering her breasts - playing in the curling ends of her long red hair. The hair she’d left loose for him. When their eyes met again Sansa thought she could drown in his grey-green depths.

“I like it very much.”

A dam within her burst and she maddeningly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.  
He groaned, kissing her in return with great fervour. His knee lifted on to the bed and and his body draped over hers as they fell into the mattress together.

The skirts of her shift rucked up - his hand grasping her bottom and squeezing, the other on the bed by her head, tangling it’s fingers into her hair as they kissed.

“Ohh my Sansa,” he sighed. The hand on her rump shifted upwards on on her thigh. He trailed kisses from her lips down to her collarbone, the the lacy tops of her breasts, running the tip of his nose against the fabric. “I like it very very much.”

Sansa tugged on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and they kissed. Blissfully. Reverently. Teeth and tongues and swallowed moans.

Her hands wanted his shirt gone, the course fabric suddenly offensive to her touch. She wanted to feel his skin against her - only the feather light touch of silk between them.

“Gone, I want it all gone,” she panted breathlessly into his ear. He pulled away sharply, flying to the edge of the bed, and ripping of the first couple of buttons to pull the shirt over his head. The same efficiency could not be said for his pants however, as his hands were shaking as he struggled to unbuckle his belt.

Sansa giggled, lounging across the bed leisurely. “Stand up,” she poked him in the back. “Let me.”

Petyr complied, standing up as Sansa rolled from her back on to her knees and crawled over like a sensual cat until she was before him. She nuzzled her nose into his bare stomach, hair tickling his ribs, and placed a kiss to his chest just to the side of his scar. He watched her every move with sharp, half-lidded eyes.

Her eyes smiled back at him. “I have a request for you, Mr. Baelish,” she smiled coyly, her hands teasing along his waist.

“Anything your Ladyship,” he said huskily.

“There is a plant here,” her hand grazed over his crotch. “That desperately needs to be potted.”

A sound like thunder in the distance rumbled in his chest. Her eyes met his under her lashes and she could see they had turned impossibly dark, and his hands had stopped shaking. “Get on the bed,” he ordered lowly.

Sansa couldn’t help the small thrill of excitement. This was what she wanted. Her commanding lover. The man so far away from the needy, childish man she married. The man who knew exactly how to please her.

Sansa moved quickly to the far side of the bed, careful not to disturb the pillow she had surreptitiously soiled. Petyr smoothly unbuckled his pants and shucked them off his legs - as well as his socks - tossing them all carelessly to the ground. Sansa had merely a moment to admire his long, lithe naked form before it was reaching across the bed to grasp one foot and one arm. With a sharp tug, he yanked her into the centre of the bed, causing her to squeal.

“Roll on to your side,” he commanded firmly. She began to shift in his direction, but he stopped her with a sturdy hand. “Other way.”

Sansa smiled, her belly now dancing with excitement. Every point of awareness she had was directed behind her. The dip of the mattress under his weight, the warmth of his body hugging up against her curves, the tickle of his breath against her neck. She shivered when his hand touched her knee.

“Potted you said,” he kissed behind the shell of her ear. The skirt of her shift tucked upwards so she could clearly see his hand disappear between her legs.

“Mmhmm,” she bit her lip, anticipation running a course from her finger tips to her toes.

“As you wish, my lady,” he slipped his index finger into her cunt. Sansa sighed. The sensation was even sweeter than when he had touched her in the woods.

~~~~

When Sansa awoke the room was dark. Painted in the serene blue of twilight. And the bed was empty.

Sansa’s skin was mottled with goosebumps, and she gave a small shiver as she dragged her hand along the slightly warm space beside her. It wasn’t quite the waking up in each other’s arms she had imagined - but the night was not over.

The sound of a dog barking drew her attention over to the window, and there she saw him. Standing under the light of the moon, shirtless, with Lady playfully pawing at the ground near his feet. Sansa wanted the to be the one at his feet.

The night air was still, but smelt clean - as though it had rained. Petyr’s back was to her - he did not hear when she opened the cottage door. 

The scent of rain, and Petyr took her back to a day of love-making in a storm. Back when he had only been her escape, but now she was sure he was so much more.

With a smile, she gripped the hem of her shift and brought it over her head, leaving her naked to the elements. The ground was cold and hard under her bare feet, the grass dewy and slithery like wet little fingers against her toes, but she didn’t care. She was not trapped in the ground of High Garden where things like that mattered. She was in a fairy forest with her handsome lover - her Pan - her Hades.

Lady was off amongst the trees, sniffing and searching, and Petyr was standing alone in the clearing, thinking.  
Sansa laughed, giving herself away. Petyr turned, seeing his little woodland nymph bade in the moonlight, naked and wild. His mouth fell open.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up,” she gingerly hopped onto a felled log to avoid a thistly weed.

“Lady, uhhh...” he gestured over to the dog. Seeming almost uncharacteristically bashful. Was he really that awestruck? He’d seen her naked before - at many different angles at this point.

Sansa hopped off the log into the soft grass. “I was afraid it had all been a dream.”

Petyr pressed his lips together in that delightful little pucker of his. “Perhaps it is.”

Sansa smiled. “Well then, we better not let it go to waste.”

Sansa lowered to her knees where she was, and crawled slowly, sensually towards him. She arched her spine like a cat and let her hair fall about her shoulders.

Petyr watched her with barely veiled amusement. Sansa almost laughed herself, not entirely sure who this woman was and how she wound up in her body. A wild woman. Unrestrained by social convention and society’s rules. _His woman._ Petyr didn’t move from where he stood, though his breath was not as even as before. She reached his legs and nuzzled against them, first at the ankles, then higher up to the knee. She rubbed her breasts against him, and straddled his foot so her cunt just rested on the toe of his boot. She coiled around him, hands like ivy, around each leg. She sighed when he shifted his foot and it bumped against her womanhood.

“My lady,” Petyr sighed.

“Shh,” she pressed her lips into the skin just above the edge of his pants. “Do you know when I first wanted you?” She looked up at him, a coy smile playing at her mouth. Petyr didn’t respond, but his attention was on her completely. “I came to this cottage to forward an inquiry by my husband, and I accidentally came upon you bathing,” Sansa felt a blush warm her cheeks and hid it against his skin - even though there was no way he could see it in the dim moonlight. “I hadn’t realized how much I...” she laughed, rubbing her forehead against his navel, almost shyly. “...how much I missed sex until I saw your beautiful cock.” She buried her face in her hand and laughed. “Oh god,” she pressed further against his leg. “It’s so beautiful.”  
She looked up at him again, and his expression was unreadable. “I wanted you before I even realized that I wanted you. And now I’m insatiable.” She pulled herself of his body just enough so she could place her hands at the flies of his pants.  
“If my husband knew all the thoughts that I have,” she undid his ties, and pulled at the fabric. “All the things I dream about doing with this magnificent cock. I am sure he would have me committed. Some breed of sex hysteria. Something in the water,” Sansa pulled out his cock and held it in her hand. “He’d never know how much I just love it.“ She leant down and pressed a sultry kiss to the head. It glistened in the moonlight. “What do you think of me now, Mr. Gamekeeper? Quite unladylike, I should think.”

Petyr swallowed heavily before speaking. “I think you’re the most magnificent creature.” His large hands cupped her face and gently traced with the thumbs every line and shape wherein. As though he were memorizing every last detail, absorbing every last drop of starlight on her skin.

Sansa fell slowly into the grass, followed by the warmth of his body as he lowered to his knees and hovered above her. Limb entwined over limb, hand in hand as he sheathed himself inside her. She closed her eyes and when she opened them up again she was looking up at a sky full of stars. Now he’d really had her everywhere. In the sun, in the rain, in his bed, and now under the moon. 

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, holding him so tightly against her as their hips rocked into each other. “I know we’ve told each other so before, but I do. Cunt and soul, I do.”

He groaned, eyes shut tight. “I love you, more than anything.”

Sansa had no idea who came first. The moment was so blindingly perfect she would never be able to recall. For all she knew they had come together at the exact millisecond, and the earth had stood still.

“Do you think I’m pregnant now?” she asked as they lay in his bed. The sun slowly rising through the narrow little window.  
Petyr stroked her arm with one finger.

“I wouldn’t know,” he sighed.

“I hope I am,” she smiled, pressing a kiss against his chest. “I’d love to have your child growing inside me.”

“Mmm,” Petyr murmured in response.

“I hope it looks just like you so that I can have a piece of you with me at all times.”

“And what about me?” Sansa looked up at him. “What of yours do I get to keep?”

She smiled playfully and bit the fleshy bit of his chest. “A lock of hair.”

“Is that all?”

Sansa giggled and buried here face in his shoulder. “To start. Just until our divorces come through.”

Petyr sat up, his brow furrowed. “Our what?”

“Surely, if I actually am carrying your child I can’t stay married to Willas.” Petyr got out of bed, eerily calm. “And you hate your wife, so...“

“Sansa!” he barked suddenly and she jumped. “You cannot leave your husband for me.”

All the joy and peace that had been fluttering inside Sansa dropped like a lead weight. “Why not?“

“You are a Lady!”

“And you have a title. Sure, a minor title, but what difference does that make.”

Petyr’s eyes closed and his head fell sullenly into his hands. “We can’t just trade one bad marriage for another.”

Sansa crawled towards him on the bed, grasping him gently by the wrists. “It wouldn’t be a bad marriage. We love each other. You know we do. We were meant for each other.”

“We were meant for this,” he waved his hand between them.

Her hands dropped. “What?“

“This. Fucking in the woods. Stolen kisses behind trees while your husband’s back is turned. Midnight rendezvous outside the manor gates. We are each other’s escapes. You from my wife and me from your husband. Everything changes once we become the very things we need escape from.”

Tears started to prick at Sansa’s eyes. “No, that isn’t true.”

“It is.”

“It can’t be. I love you.”

Petyr touched her cheek and she jerked away. “And I love you. I do. Which is why I don’t want to lose you.”

A tear fell down her cheek. “You wouldn’t be losing me, you’d be gaining me. You would have me forever.”

Petyr looked down at the space between them. “Forever...until the next Gamekeeper came along.”

Sansa suddenly felt very aware of her nakedness, and frantically began looking around for her shift. It was still on the ground by the door downstairs. She had nothing to cover herself with. Petyr searched in his closet for an old sweater of his. She accepted it gratefully and pulled its wool hem as far down her legs as possible to cover herself.

“I feel like such a fool,” she sat on the edge of the bed. The bed that only moment ago she had been so deliriously happy in - and now she felt like the whole thing had been some horrible trick.

Petyr dressed silently into his trousers and a soft grey undershirt. “You are not a fool, Sansa.”

“Then why do I feel so stupid.” A sob escaped from her, and she doubled over, burying her face in her lap.

“Sansa,” Petyr knelt before her, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t cry. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t have to change anything.”

“I don’t see how it can go on the same.”

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her closer, willing sorrow away. “It is still me. Our feelings haven’t changed. Our love for one another, all those things we said last night, they have not lost their meaning.”

“But you don’t want to marry me,” she cried.

Petyr pressed his lips together. “Sansa, please understand.” He pulled away far enough so that she could look at him. “You are my love, my life, my soul. No piece of paper, legal or otherwise can say any differently. And I will love you. In our hut, in these woods, in every moment in between duty and honour. I will be there, loving you. But, you see, I make a much better Gamekeeper than I do a husband. I became a Gamekeeper to avoid being a husband. And my not wanting to marry you has nothing to do with how much I deeply, deeply feel for you. It’s because I’m afraid.”

Sansa’s hands clutched at his collar. “But you have nothing to be afraid of. I know I love you. Marrying me will not change how I feel.”

“Neither will not marrying you, so what does it matter. We can still be together. We’ve proven that. You slept here tonight. Tomorrow you will sleep at High Garden, another night you will sleep here again. We can be happy, Sansa, just as we are.”

“But I want you!”

“You have me!“

She began hitting him, striking him on the shoulders, smashing and screaming. “Why must you make me hate you!!”

He smashed his lips to hers, yearning to kiss all her pain away. She pulled away and struck him hard across the face. There was pain in his expression, but it wasn’t solely because of his face. He had hurt her, and it in turn hurt him.

“I-I need a moment,” Sansa moved far across the room, holding her stinging hand that had struck him. “Please leave.”

Petyr bowed his head, touching the reddening cheek, and got up and left.

Once alone, Sansa found and collected her abandoned clothes from the floor and removed his sweater, placing it on the bed. She dressed in the few items she had - for the first time wishing she had worn undergarments.

Petyr waited for her downstairs, putting on the kettle to make a pot of tea so theycould perhaps talk more rationally.  
His burning cheek didn’t matter - the fact that she’d hit him didn’t matter. All that mattered is that she stayed.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs she was fully clothed, and her face was red and dry.

“I’ve made some tea,” he pointed to the kettle.

“I can’t stay,” she avoided his gaze.

“Please Sansa.”

“I have to go before Willas wakes up, or they will wonder where I have gone so early.”

“Let them wonder.“

“Petyr, I have to go.” 

She rushed for the door but he got there first, slamming his hand across the jamb. “Sansa, I won’t let you go until we’ve talked about this first.”

“I am the Lady of the Manor, and I order you to get out of my way!”

Petyr was taken aback. She had never pulled rank on him like that. Not once in their entire interaction. The heart in his chest plummeted to the soles of his feet. “I’m sorry, your Ladyship,” he fell back behind the language of propriety, and stood away from the door. 

Sansa threw the door open and walked out as fast as she could without running. And Petyr, resolved to let her go - as he had done with most woman who had walked in and eventually walked out of his life. A glint of bright cream caught his eye, and he saw in a heap next to the doorway was Sansa’s lost shift. In the moment it felt like a message from the universe - _don’t let her get away!_

“Sansa wait!” he heard himself calling before he had chance to think. The desperation cracked his normally husky tone. Sansa stopped in her tracks, her feet almost to the path that had once brought her here so many months ago. She could still remember the bush she hid behind when she first saw him. She turned, using all her strength to try and keep herself together. “Your shift!” he held up the Irish cream lace.

Sansa knew if she went over there she would utterly fall apart in his arms, and it was the one thing in sthis moment she could not will herself to do. “Keep it.”

She turned to go back to the path. Back to her miserable life with Willas, and away from the joy she had found out here in the wild with him.

“Sansa!” he called again.

This time Sansa stopped but did not turn around. She hadn’t the strength. “Please Petyr.”

“Will I see you again?” his voice cracked with emotion - with fear. She turned her head, seeing him braced on his door jamb as though without her the entire house would collapse. Perhaps it would. For the first time in all the time she had known him she could read every emotion on his face.

“I don’t know.”

Then she ran.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Baelentines to all the readers who are still out there! Even now in this year of our Lord Baelish being 1 year out of our creepy clasps! 
> 
> What is dead, may never be forgotten.
> 
> I managed to finish this just in time for some post Valentines feels. 
> 
> This is part three of my Lady Sansa series and the last part, unfortunately *prepares to duck launched projectiles*. Thank you to all who have read and enjoyed this weird little series of mine. 
> 
> Thank you to Ophelia_Raine, for being my writing buddy. 
> 
> You’re gonna need some of that good discount chocolate after this one. I have a permanent residence in Angstville, and I ain’t moving!
> 
> *cover art made by me using Fotor*


End file.
